


Sink

by alasweneverdo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dark Stiles, Hate Sex, M/M, Psychological Abuse/Torture, Sadomasochism, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasweneverdo/pseuds/alasweneverdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even more surprising is this new side of Isaac, one that can’t quite say no. One that could walk away but doesn’t. One that knows this is dangerous and perverse and maybe, just maybe, doesn’t care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with [ilys](http://www.ilys.com/) and didn't edit a whole lot after that, so that's my excuse for any errors, etc.—though anything that's ambiguous is probably intentionally so.
> 
> Also, we're ignoring the existence of s4 and of Malia Tate. I mean, it's not strictly necessary, but that was my vision while writing this.

“Really had us fooled, didn’t you, Stiles.” Not even an accusation, just a statement of fact. Isaac knows better than to conflate the two.

The bite marks left by Stiles’s teeth won’t last, but it feels like they’re scarring anyway, like the tissue’s already dead. He hums, a vibration against Isaac’s skin that would be soothing—arousing, even—if it felt less sinister. Less like a death purr.

“It’s funny how no one asked why it chose me,” says Stiles. “Could’ve been Scott or Allison. So why me, huh, Isaac?”

And of course, the obvious answer is _Because dying fucked you up the most_. Isaac just doesn’t want to believe it. His hand on Stiles’s jaw steers those punishing teeth away. He can feel the tug of a grin forming on Stiles’s face.

“Come on, Isaac. Guess. Just a stab in the dark.”

“This was better when you weren’t talking,” says Isaac.

To emphasize his point, he shifts his hand to stick two fingers in Stiles’s mouth, not flinching or complaining when he feels him bite down. Maybe he should complain. Maybe he should be the one acting out in retribution, not just sitting here and taking it like yet another person’s whipping boy. He can’t even hate himself for this indulgence; it’s just something he wants, or needs, or can’t stop thinking about. Something he can’t leave alone. It doesn’t justify it, but it’s the truth of things.

Stiles on top of him is just like Isaac always imagined: limbs awkward, body shifting constantly to get everything lined up just right, movements experimental and uncoordinated and driven by eager curiosity. But Isaac never would have pictured this other part of Stiles, the one that drives him to push the boundaries in the worst ways, to slowly bite and claw and squeeze and push, lingering despite Isaac’s protests, easing off and coming right back with even more force and determination. This is a Stiles who doesn’t just like to inflict pain, but is fascinated by it.

Even more surprising is this new side of Isaac, one that can’t quite say no. One that could walk away but doesn’t. One that knows this is dangerous and perverse and maybe, just maybe, doesn’t care.

“You know, you almost pulled a fast one on me,” says Stiles. “With the Allison thing, I mean.”

Isaac freezes. He hadn’t planned on fucking Stiles, but now he’s thinking about doing it and going in dry; maybe that would be enough of a distraction to shut him up. Or maybe the fucker would get off on it. That would hardly be shocking.

“She was pretty hot,” Stiles continues. “I mean, if you’re gonna pretend to be attracted to someone, a girl like Allison’s not a bad choice.”

“Shut up.”

Stiles sighs, the air fanning against Isaac’s jaw. “Look, no one’s judging you, dude. I’m just saying. Everyone knew what was going on. Even Deaton knew something was up.”

Kissing him only shuts him up for a minute. His teeth draw blood from Isaac’s lower lip.

“Tried so hard to stay away,” he murmurs against Isaac’s mouth. “And that was back when you still thought I was nice.”

 

“I never thought you were nice,” Isaac says with both hands on Stiles’s waist, pulling him down. And, god, the friction still isn’t enough, somehow. “I always thought you were a dick, remember?”

“You liked it. What’s that say about you?”

Isaac grits his teeth. “You wanna play your stupid mind games or help get me off?”

The reply doesn’t come verbally. Stiles snakes a hand between them and gets to work—but in his world, every “or” seems to function as an “and”.

“How’d Scott feel about you having sex with her?”

“I dunno, we didn’t really talk about it,” says Isaac. It’s both easier and harder to be mad at Stiles when the guy has a hand on his cock—easier because everything he’s saying is so wrong in context, harder because, fuck, it feels so unreasonably _good_.

“There had to have been a better way to handle that whole thing.” He pauses as Isaac mouths at his shoulder. “Probably could’ve talked it over and—hey, he might’ve joined you.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“You would’ve loved that, wouldn’t you, Isaac? I mean, at least you tried to hide how badly you wanted _my_ dick, but with Scott—” He cuts off with a hiss.

Isaac licks at the wound to minimize the mess. Stiles’s blood tastes human—more human than the rest of him, even. Isaac was hoping it wouldn’t.

He pushes Stiles away just enough to look at his face. He likes some of what he sees—heavy-lidded eyes, strands of hair sweat-plastered to his forehead, flushed cheeks. But the smirk is something Isaac doesn’t want anything to do with. Not now, not ever. The sight of it nauseates him a little.

“Like it rough after all,” says Stiles. “What now? Wanna roleplay a little?” He leans in, nips at Isaac’s ear. “I’ll let you call me _Daddy_.”

When Isaac shoves Stiles off of him, the force of the push sends Stiles tumbling a few feet and makes the whole couch rock back, landing again with a violent, echoing thud.

The fact that Isaac is barely clothed and still has his dick out doesn’t stop him from standing over Stiles and glowering with all the fury he can muster, lack of dignity be damned. He watches as Stiles pushes himself up into a seated position and rubs his arm, chuckling.

“So you finally pushed back.”

“Fuck you.” Isaac wants to hurt him, wants to do something terrible, but he settles for clenching his fists so tightly the nails cut into his palms. “I don’t care about your power trips or your homicidal urges. I don’t even give a fuck what you say about Allison or Scott. It’s all bullshit that doesn’t mean anything.” He moves into a kneeling position and shoves Stiles onto his back, pinning him down. “But if you don’t shut your fucking mouth about my family, I’ll kill you.”

The blood leftover from the already-healed punctures in one of his palms mingles with the steady trickle from Stiles’s shoulder, staining their skin red. The air reeks of it, mixing with the smell of sweat and pre-ejaculate and adrenaline.

Stiles licks his lips. A ghost of a smile lingers in his expression.

“I like you, Isaac. I think this should work out just fine.”

Isaac growls, then leans in and kisses him.


End file.
